


We Ruin Everything We Touch

by orphan_account



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alcohol, Angst, Daddy Issues, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Incest, Loss of Virginity, Painful Sex, References to Drugs, Revenge Sex, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 16:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18450521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s almost like a dream, or maybe even a nightmare, as Sam’s hand reaches out to wrap around the back of Justine’s skull.





	We Ruin Everything We Touch

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING WARNING WARNING!!! DO NOT SKIP THE TAGS! I REPEAT: HEED THE TAGS! EXTREMELY TRIGGERING AND FUCKED UP CONTENT AHEAD! VERY EXPLICIT! This is a retelling of the night Sam kissed Justine, so you can guess what’s coming. IF INCEST IS A TRIGGER PLEASE CLOSE OUT. READ A DIFFERENT FIC. EAT A SNACK. SOMETHING, ANYTHING ELSE THAN READ THIS GRAPHIC INCEST-RIDDEN SHITSHOW. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

“You know— I don’t even know if you’re eighteen.” Sam murmurs, drunkenly shaking his head. “But I don’t care.”

It happens in slow-motion, one unchangeable moment stretched and suspended in time. It’s almost like a dream, or maybe even a nightmare, as Sam’s hand reaches out to wrap around the back of Justine’s skull. His fingers bury their way into the dark sea of her hair, mouth encroaching upon her own at an almost glacial pace. A scream claws its way up her throat, halting just before it expels, and in that moment— that one terrible, fate-eating moment— she has all the fucking time in the world to pull herself away but she doesn’t.

She knows that she could easily push him off of her, but she doesn’t. She knows she could blurt out the truth, that his blood runs through her veins and he has to stop because this is sick, but she doesn’t.

She closes her eyes, kisses him back as hard as he’s kissing her, and he tastes like gasoline. He’s all sour, bitter, drenching her mouth with it when his tongue presses its way behind her teeth. His mustache reeks of cigarettes and booze, coarse against the underside of her nose. The feeling of his body pressing her back onto the bed numbs her, like the cocaine at the back of his throat. He numbs her, and he tastes like what sorrow feels like.

He tastes like regret.

There’s a dam welling up behind her eyes when she feels his hands at the back of her dress, clumsy fingers working at the zipper, and in her silence it feels like she’s somehow punishing him. All those barbed words she’d rehearsed in her head, all the venom she’d dreamed of spitting into his eye the moment the two of them came face to horrible face. None of it could ever compare to this.

_You’re taking your own daughter’s virginity, you nihilistic fuck! The one you abandoned. The one you threw away. The one you can’t even fucking recognize yourself inside of!_

“You really are such a pretty girl, Justine.” Sam whispers, breath hot in her ear as he trails down to her neck.

It’s sick, and she knows it. She knows what she’s doing, how much she’s fucking everything up beyond repair but it doesn’t goddamn matter. He deserves this. He deserves the horror, the pain, all the nights to come looking up at the stars and wondering why. 

Those rotten fingers, filthy and dry, curl their way around the top of her pretty gown and tug it down past the hills of her breasts. He undresses her like a doll, like something to be played with and thrown carelessly aside, and when he leans back to admire his work Justine can’t help but gag.

“Have you ever?” Sam asks, even though he knows the answer. “With anyone?”

Eyes clenched shut, Justine shakes her head.

There’s no elegant dance. No perfumed words or whispers or means of seduction. He just presses her down onto her back without a word, shoves the hem of her dress up past her waist. He leaves the rest on, desperate to take her— to take everything— because she knows he feels that he deserves it. This pretty little idiot in front of him is his; and he’ll use her, just the way he used her mother all those years ago. All those actresses, all those fans, all those women stupid enough to crawl their way into his bed.

Vomit rises in Justine’s throat. There’s a clock on the wall behind them and the ticking might just make her eardrums burst, but still she doesn’t dare stop him. Maybe it’s the champagne she drank at the party. Maybe it’s because this is the longest he’s ever looked at her in her entire fucking life.

_I watched every one of your movies. I know every line, every scene; all those nights spent alone in my room with the only part of you that I had. It always felt like you were there, lulling me to sleep the way you should have done when I was a kid. I deified you, Sam. You are my father, my God; and I’m just another thing for you to come inside of._

Her body jerks when he cups the swell of her cunt over the cotton of her panties. He’s so rough, so intense, ready to drink her down like the glass of liquor set lonely on the edge of the nightstand. A thick, rough finger shoves its way inside of her without warning. It rips her open like a sheet of rose-colored paper, and when his hand comes back red all Sam does is moan. She can feel him now, hot on her thigh, hips humping against her like an animal, like a dog. His hand goes to his belt. She closes her eyes again, because she can’t bear to keep them open.

“This is uh... This is gonna hurt at first.” Sam breathes out like a sigh, and it’s all the warning he gives her before pressing himself inside.

Justine’s body revels against her mind, tries to push him out with a sharp gasp of pain. It’s too much, too big, too deep, too wrong, and she clenches her jaw so hard she thinks her teeth might crack. Tears stream from her eyes, desperate for the tearing and aching to ebb, and when she opens them all she can think about is punching him in the face. Wrinkled and tanned and lax with pleasure; she wishes she could slam her knuckles into the edge of his jaw, wishes she could hurt him as much as he’s hurting her.

He hushes her, even though she hasn’t said a fucking word. His hips start to move, a steady pace, and the blood roars in her ears. One sharp thrust seats himself inside of her. It punches the air from her lungs, makes starts burst behind her eyes when she slams them shut again.

“So, unnf— so fucking tight. Yeah, that’s it keep— keep tightening up on me. Like— Oh God yeah just like that.”

A moan spills from Sam’s parted lips, so loud in Justine’s ear she can’t even help but flinch away. All this time and she hasn’t made a sound of her own, hasn’t moaned or keened or let out a sigh to tell him she’s feeling anything more than pain, but he quickens his pace anyway. Her legs start to shake, body trembling with fear and disgust and something she doesn’t quite recognize. It blooms beneath her belly, like a field of dark flowers, spreading down until it rests at the place where they’re joined.

_This is sick. You’re ruining me. I’m ruining me. We ruin everything we touch._

And he touches. He touches, and touches, and his hand trails down between them. The pad of his thumb is thick and rough, and when it presses against her hardened clit all Justine can do is wince.

“Alright, Kid, if you’re gonna come you better hurry up and—“ Sam’s words cut off into a choked grunt, and she’s seen enough movies to know what’s happening.

His body tenses, cock throbbing so hard that it hurts. When he comes he comes inside of her, riding out the putrid ecstasy just as quickly as it began. He leaves her aching and wet, swollen and both wanting yet fearing more of him. The absence is filled with hot, thick fluid that spills out onto the sheets when he drags himself out of her. She knows that she should feel alarmed, and she does. Her eyes are wide and filled with tears, staring in horror down between her legs when Sam gets up to buckle his pants. She drops back down flat onto the pillows, head lulling up towards the ornate ceiling above.

It catches Sam’s attention. His face changes, eyes squinting up behind the rims of his glasses. 

“Shit, Kid. You look like you’ve seen a fuckin’ ghost or something. What’s wrong you— You’re not on the pill?”

She doesn’t answer. She can’t make her mouth work. Her face heats up, blood rushing red beneath the skin of her cheeks, and it’s all the answer the director needs to hear.

“Oh well.” Sam frowns, then offers nothing more than the simplest of shrugs. “How much does a uh... how much is an abortion these days, anyway? Couple hundred bucks? Just keep an eye out and let me know if Aunt Flow doesn’t arrive on schedule.”

A pillow flings across the room. It misses Sam by only a matter of inches, and it takes Justine a bewildered moment to realize it had been  _her._ Her entire neck is wet with tears, trails of mascara, and she bites down on a furious roar.

“Go fuck yourself.” She snarls, fingers curling up into fists by her sides.

For the first time tonight, Sam almost looks concerned. It fades to confusion, then hardens to anger in the blink of an eye. He isn’t the man who just took her virginity from her anymore. He’s more than that now, and it’s right back to the way that things were.

“What the Hell?” The wrinkles by his eyes crinkle like pages in a book. “You can’t— You can’t talk to me like that. Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

“You wanna know who I am?”

Sam scoffs. “Look, Kid, just because we—“

“I’m your _daughter.”_

**Author's Note:**

> oof


End file.
